


Murder at the Moonlight Inn

by Maplesyrup



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: 1920s, F/M, Murder Mystery, Prohibition, Rumbelle Secret Santa (Once Upon a Time), Rumbelle Secret Santa 2019 (Once Upon a Time)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:06:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21799585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maplesyrup/pseuds/Maplesyrup
Summary: A Rumbelle Secret Santa 2019 gift for Joylee. Prompt: "buddy cops, mistletoe"As Belle French arrives in Storyrbooke, Maine to enjoy her first white Christmas at the lovely old Moonlight Inn, a horrid crime is committed and a murderer is on the loose.2020 TEA Winner - Best Holiday Fic
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Comments: 19
Kudos: 43





	Murder at the Moonlight Inn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Joylee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joylee/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, Joylee! It was a delight being your Santa. I hope you enjoy this little whodunnit romp through a blizzardy 1920s Storybrooke!

**1.**

_Storybrooke. December 23, 1925_

Belle stepped out of the cab, closing her eyes on a fresh inhale of sharp, wintry air. She exhaled, watching her breath steam briefly before it disappeared into the atmosphere. Flakes swirled around her, tickling and melting against her cheeks, flushed as they were from the cold.

She glanced upward, taking in the large building before her set against a backdrop of grey December sky, and grinned. If everything went well, she’d have her very first white Christmas, after all.

She turned, pressing the fare plus a generous tip into the hand of the cabbie. He shook his head and tried to give her back the change.

“That’s too much, Miss.”

“Nonsense,” she said, waving his words away with a smile. “It’s Christmas. Get that little girl of yours that toy I’m sure she’s been begging for.” The cabbie’s eyes widened in surprise and Belle shrugged one fur-covered shoulder, reaching out to pluck a thin strand of blonde hair off his dark coat.

“Lucky guess.” She let the strand blow away in the breeze. The cabbie chuckled, fatherly pride in his smile as his cheeks tinged pink. He tugged briefly at the front of his tweed hat. 

“Thank you again, Miss. You have a happy holiday.”

“You do the same, Mr…?”

“Oh, uh, Hatter. Jefferson Hatter.”

Belle smiled. 

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Hatter.”

With a final smile, he climbed back into his cab and began the slow merge back into traffic. Belle turned back to the inn, clasping her hands together in excitement. A smartly dressed bellhop lifted her bags and she followed the young man inside, making her way to the front desk.

The foyer was fully decorated for the holiday, with the scent of cinnamon and cloves in the air. Evergreen boughs trimmed everything that would hold them and a large, glittering tree stood at the back of the space, tucked into a corner near the fireplace. A cheerful fire crackled, welcoming guests in its own way as they made their way to their rooms. An arrangement of sofas and armchairs dotted the space, inviting all and sundry to spend a cozy evening reading or having a drink with new friends.

Belle was contemplating the simple joy of relaxing by that very fire as soon as she’d unpacked when a surly, annoyed male voice met her ears.

“Are you going to gawp all day, dearie, or do you plan to check in sometime before Hogmanay?”

Belle pursed her lips before curling them in a patient smile and turning to the man behind her. She lost her words at the sight of him. A scowl pulled at his striking features but she didn’t miss the weariness in his lovely brown eyes that belied his annoyance. He, too, was dressed smartly, a finely-tailored coat over what appeared to be a suit, silver-streaked brown hair brushing his collar. She couldn’t help but think how the dark tones of his clothes were a lovely complement to her cream ensemble and how the silver in his hair caught the light around them so prettily.

Blinking the silly thoughts away, she took a breath to speak, but didn’t get the chance. The man’s scowl deepened as he moved around her with a sigh of what she interpreted as high dudgeon. 

She snapped her mouth shut and whipped around, staring incredulously at his back as he took her place at the check-in desk. Her temper was threatening to rise and she quickly crossed the foyer, tapping him on the shoulder when she reached him. He spared her a glance over his shoulder as he signed for his room, and scoffed.

“Get in your way, did I?” He chuckled, but without any humor Belle could find. “Well, now you know the feeling.” He bent to pick up his suitcase and moved to the stairs, leaving Belle to stare after him like a fool.

“Oh, don’t mind him,” the check-in woman said. “Detective Gold’s a grumpy ol’ bull. He’ll settle down soon enough.” 

Belle looked to her and blinked stupidly for the second time in only a few seconds. The woman was tall, wolfishly beautiful with black hair done in a razor sharp bob that hit her jawline, emphasizing her perfect bone structure and deep red lipstick. The woman smiled, raising an eyebrow and Belle blushed.

“Sorry,” Belle said, hurrying forward, inwardly cursing her sudden inability to speak. “I’ve got a reservation under French.”

“French?” The woman’s mouth opened on a disbelieving smile. “Wait… not like _Belle_ French, right?”

Belle smiled, the curve a tad wry. 

“The very same.”

The woman squealed, shooting a hand out to grab Belle’s and give it a hearty series of pumps that had Belle worrying over her elbow joint.

“Oh, wow! That’s…well, that’s just the berries and cherries, isn’t it?!” She finally let go of Belle’s hand and Belle chuckled.

“I take it you’ve read my work?”

“ _Read_ it? More like devoured it for breakfast, lunch, _and_ dinner!” The woman pressed a hand to her chest dramatically. “ _Midnight At His Grave_ got me through a real rough time after my last guy called it quits on me.”

That particular novel was Belle’s most popular crime fiction title to date; a smash success that launched her into the world of popular writers through most of Australia and, apparently into the rest of the world, too. She was grateful for the success and the lifestyle it afforded her, but if she were honest with herself, it had left her a bit lonelier than she’d like. And the necessary travel for promotions was quite lovely, but didn’t quite scratch her innate desire for adventure like she hoped it would.

“Oh, geez. I am so sorry, Miss French.”

The apology pulled Belle from her thoughts and she met the remorseful gaze of the woman, frowning slightly.

“Whatever for?”

The woman rolled her eyes, presumably at herself, and snorted.

“You’re here for the holiday, not to be bombarded by fans.” She shook her head. “I’m being a pest.”

Belle shook her head, scribbling her name in the guestbook. 

“Don’t you fret.” She gave the woman a warm smile. “I am so pleased you enjoy my work enough to say such lovely things.”

“Oh, I do!” The woman chirped, bouncing a bit in her excitement. “My name is Ruby, by the way. Ruby Lucas and I’m happy to get you anything you could possibly need while you’re here, and—”

“ _Ruby!_ ”

Her name suddenly ringing out across the foyer had Ruby cringing, her words cutting off and her shoulders suddenly around her ears.

“Oops.”

A shorter, stout, and cantankerous-looking older woman pushed open a door that appeared to lead to a dining area, and crossed the foyer in ground-eating strides. She scowled fiercely when she reached Ruby’s side at the desk.

“Young lady, you were meant to be helping me prepare supper _ten minutes ago_.” She slashed a hand through the air. “What’s been keeping you? Are you flirting with the guests again?”

“For heaven’s sake, Granny.” Ruby dropped her head into her hand on a groan, then shot back up. “Could you not embarrass me in front of a guest?” She hissed through clenched teeth. “Please?”

Granny turned her scowl on Belle, who smiled and raised a hand to wave.

“Hello. I’m Belle French.”

Granny slowly raised one grey eyebrow and folded her arms across her massive expanse of matronly, wool-clad bosom.

“The novelist, eh?” She gave Belle a once-over, then nodded. “I’ve read your stuff. You’re good, girl. Got brains.”

Before Belle could properly respond, Granny turned back to Ruby and hissed at her to get into the kitchen. Ruby growled but did as she was told, the hem of her drop-waist dress flapping against her knees as she stomped away.

“This way, miss.”

Belle turned towards the bellhop, offering him a grateful smile, and followed him up the wide staircase to her suite.  
  


* * *

**2.**

_L_ _ater that day..._

The bartender slid a fizzing drink in an elegant little cocktail glass towards Belle, and she smiled wide, giving him a cheerful thanks before taking a sip. The drink was delicious, all sorts of bubbly and lemony, and yet she paused.

“Excuse me,” she called to the bartender, “but there seems to be something missing from my order.”

“Volstead.”

She turned, spotting the same grumpy man from check-in, and raised an eyebrow at him.

“I beg your pardon?”

He slid onto a barstool a few down from her and gave the bartender a hand signal. The second man nodded, and pulled out a glass.

“The Volstead Act?” he asked, turning back to her. When Belle shrugged, the man shook his head. “Don’t tell me you’re unaware of the United States’ prohibition laws?”

“I’m afraid I am.” She took another sip of her drink. It _was_ refreshing, and perhaps it was too soon in the day for a real cocktail anyway. “Would you care to enlighten me, Mr…?”

“Detective,” he corrected gruffly. “Detective Gold.”

Belle held out her hand.

“Delighted. Miss Belle French.”

He grasped her offered hand gently, giving it a single, slow shake as he eyed her.

“The Australian novelist?”

Belle beamed. “The very one. I take it you’ve heard of me?”

“Only just,” he said, the words clipped. “I don’t really go for pulp fiction novels in my line of work.” 

“Pulp fiction?” Belle echoed, her pride stinging. “Perhaps it’s vanity that pushes me to say this, but, I think my novels are certainly a better caliber than _pulp fiction_.” She punctuated her statement with another sip, setting the glass down delicately and folding her hands primly over her crossed knees.

“If you say so.” He took up the pint glass the bartender had set down in front of him, taking a large sip of the sparkling amber liquid inside.

“I should think hundreds of thousands of copies sold would indeed say so.”

Detective Gold grunted noncommittally, taking another sip of his drink until the glass was drained. Setting his empty glass down, he slid from the stool.

“Enjoy your stay, Miss French,” he said dryly, then turned and made his way out of the bar.

Belle picked up her drink, contemplating the space Detective Gold had just vacated. His surliness chafed, to be sure, but also fascinated her. She’d met and worked with many a detective inspector these past few years. Their unique perspective lent an authenticity to her novels that Belle deeply valued and her readers seemed to appreciate. And in her work she’d seen her fair share of moods that ran the gamut, all with professional purpose. But Detective Gold’s brand of cranky was new to her. 

She was itching to find out more about his inner workings. In a purely professional way, of course. Just to see what made him tick; she was an author, after all. People-watching for inspiration was part of the job. Was his moodiness born of bitterness from a long-lost love affair gone wrong that left him still pining? Perhaps he was aloof as a means of keeping everyone at bay to avoid being hurt? Or mayhap a case that hit too close to home went cold and left him shaken, the lack of justice being served enough to render him aching with dissatisfaction?

Belle lifted her glass as she mused to herself, preparing to drain the last of her drink, when a blood-curdling scream rent the air. 

The glass nearly slipped from her fingers, but she managed to catch it in time and set it back on the bar before slipping down from her perch and hurrying towards the kitchens, where the scream had come from.

She pushed open the door Granny had used earlier, and ran in, heels clicking on the tiled floor, but skidded to a halt.

There Ruby stood, her back to Belle, visibly shaking as she sobbed into her hand. She turned as Belle came in, and ran to her.

“Oh, Miss French!” She collapsed against Belle, her arms winding around Belle’s shoulders as she sobbed harder. Belle peered around the distraught woman, trying to find the source of her woe, and gasped.

A body lay on the floor in a pool of blood fresh enough to still be spreading, staining tile and grout as it crept along the floor.

Ruby wailed piteously in her ear, and Belle winced, disengaging herself a bit to look into Ruby’s face.

“Miss Lucas,” she said, grasping Ruby by the shoulders and giving her a little shake, “you have to calm down, please, and tell me what happened.”

Ruby sniffled, shaking her head. She glanced behind her at the body once more and her face crumpled anew as she sobbed. The kitchen door burst open, the figures of Granny Lucas and Detective Gold moving swiftly through.

“What in the Sam Hill—”

Granny’s words halted on a gasp.

“Dear god,” she rasped, moving to Ruby and pulling her from Belle. She wrapped her granddaughter in a fierce hug. “Oh, honey. Come on, come away. You don’t need to see that anymore.”

She led Ruby into a small adjoining room, shutting the door behind them. Belle could hear Ruby begin to sob once more.

Detective Gold waited until the two women had left before he strode forward, his steps confident as he snatched a napkin from a side table and sank to his haunches next to the body; careful to avoid the pool of blood that had started congealing on the cold floor. Belle watched the practiced way he made an initial examination, carefully checking the pulse of the dead man to be certain he was indeed gone before he began scanning the body for clues.

Belle stepped forward, careful to avoid the blood herself, and bent down towards the Detective.

“So,” she half-whispered, “what are we thinking? An accident or foul play?”

Detective Gold looked up sharply, pinning her with a scowl.

“Miss French, kindly take your leave of this area.” He stood, blocking her view of the body with his own and invading her personal space. “It’s an active crime scene and not for civilian perusal.”

“Detective, I am no mere _civilian_ ,” she said with patience. “How do you suppose I get all the details for my novels? I work with actual police and investigators to make sure everything is accurate!” She crossed her arms. “And besides, a little blood never scared me.”

He sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Whatever method you use to get your quite _exaggerated_ details is of no concern to me, Miss French.” He stepped around her, his warm hand low on her back as he guided her towards the door. “Now, please leave and let me do my job.”

Something he said pinged in her brain, and she dug her heels in, halting their progress.

“Wait one second,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “You said earlier that you’ve never read my work.”

His face blanked before the scowl returned.

“I don’t have time for this.”

She moved, planting herself in front of him with a sly grin.

“You called my books ‘pulp fiction’ and said you don’t go for them in your line of work.” She folded her arms, quirking an eyebrow at him. “But you _have_ read them, haven’t you? You dirty fibber.”

Gold scoffed and shook his head but didn’t contradict her. Instead, he turned and walked back to the body, resuming his inspection. She grinned, pleased as a cat with cream at her discovery.

“I’m afraid this changes everything, Detective Gold,” she said to his back with false sweetness, drawing out his title. “If you’re willing to lie about something as simple as having read my, _ahem_ , trashy fiction, then what else would you lie about?” She saw his shoulders stiffen but continued.

“It seems I have no choice but to call in a more, shall we say, honorable member of the local police to take over what appears to be quite a violent murder case?” 

Her smile faded quickly as he rose and in two long strides had her backed against a wall, one hand flat on the paneling above her while the other was against the wall near her shoulder.

“Don’t,” he rasped, his voice menacing but so _sultry_ in its anger, “ever accuse me of dishonor in my profession again.”

A little bubble of excitement rose within her, his uniquely handsome face making her want to find and press all of his buttons, regardless of how reckless it was. A magnetic, frenetic energy radiated from him and she found herself torn between wanting to shake him up and smooth his feathers.

Shaking things up won the day.

“My goodness, Detective Gold,” she murmured back, “it wasn’t _me_ who lied. It was _you_. All you have to do is come clean and then your honor will be restored, I assure you.”

He dipped his head lower with a growl and she felt it reverberate through her until her toes curled.

“And you,” he said, the words full of promise before he paused.

“Me…what?” Her chest heaved with excitement as she wondered what he’d do next.

He pulled back, his lovely eyes scanning her face, falling to her mouth for a split second before he turned away.

“You’re not my problem,” he said abruptly. “And not welcome in my crime scene.” 

He turned from her, his next words flat.

“Good day, Miss French.”

Belle stared at his back for one incredulous moment before smoothing her skirt and thrusting her chin into the air.

“Well. You’re right about one thing, Detective Gold,” she said, adjusting her sleeves primly. “ _I_ am definitely not your problem.”

She turned on her heel, not bothering to see if the words landed, and made a beeline for the small antechamber where Granny Lucas had taken Ruby. She knocked lightly on the door, and it opened to reveal the older woman’s face, a sad frown creasing her brow.

“Miss French.”

Belle offered a sympathetic smile.

“Is Miss Lucas up for more company?” She gestured behind her. “Detective Gold, ah, has things covered here.” She ignored the snort that came from behind her.

Granny nodded, opening the door enough for Belle to enter, and Belle saw Ruby bowed with grief at a small table, a steaming cup of coffee in front of her. She wasn’t crying but her face was pale and drawn and she fiddled with the delicate handle of the cup instead of sipping.

Ruby looked up, her makeup smeared from her crying and hurriedly brought her napkin to her face to blot what she could.

“M-Miss French! I’m so sorry, I must look a fright—”

“Nonsense,” Belle interrupted, sitting down. “You’ve had a great shock, never mind your face.”

Ruby nodded but still wiped gently at her face, sniffling.

“Peter must have been important to you.” Belle looked up at Granny. “To both of you.”

The Lucas women nodded.

“He’s worked here forever,” Ruby said, looking to her grandmother. “Done almost every job we’ve got to do around the Moonlight.”

Granny nodded. “And was the best damn bartender we’ve ever had, too,” Granny added, “despite the fog-horns in Washington tryin’ to moralize for us.”

Belle nodded. “Prohibition, yes. Detective Gold mentioned it to me.” She shrugged. “We’ve had similar laws in parts of Australia, but they haven’t managed to get Melbourne under their thumb yet.”

Granny paused.

“That, uh, reminds me of somethin’. Be back in a minute, loves,” she said, and hurried out.

“Is she alright?” Belle turned to Ruby. “What was that about?”

Ruby shook her head.

“There’s a small stash of gin Peter kept just for Granny and me, even though it’s illegal.” She smiled sadly. “We have a nightly routine and everything. Once the inn’s settled for the night, we have a drink at the bar for an hour or so, and just talk about things.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “It’s my favorite part of the day.”

Belle reached out, grasping one of Ruby’s hands in support as her mind whirred.

“Miss Lucas—”

“Please,” Ruby said, clasping Belle’s hand in return, “call me Ruby.”

“Alright, then. But I insist you call me Belle.” At Ruby’s hesitant nod and small smile, Belle nodded in return. “Ruby, I know this is all so sudden, but can I ask you a rather sensitive question?”

Ruby frowned slightly, wiping her cheeks with the napkin.

“Of course, what is it?” 

“Was there anyone, ah, particularly _not_ fond of Peter? Anyone who may have wished him harm?”

Ruby shook her head.

“No. No, everyone loves Peter. Granny’s right, he’s the best.” She paused. “Well, he was,” she finished sadly.

“Have any guests been acting strange lately? Or had Peter confided a threat made against him, anything of that nature?”

Ruby’s frown deepened.

“None of that, no. Why are you asking? Do you suspect something?”

“I’m forming a theory. Might I share it with you when it’s complete?” At Ruby’s nod, Belle stood, pressing her hand.

“I have to go speak with Detective Gold.” She released Ruby’s hand and moved towards the door. “But I promise you, Ruby, I’ll do everything I can to help get to the bottom of why someone would want to harm Peter.”

* * *

####  **3.**

Belle slipped out of the kitchen, Gold taking no notice of her as he hunched over the body and scribbled furiously into a little notebook, and made a beeline for the bar, hoping Granny was still there. She frowned when she found it empty, save for one green-clad, copper-haired woman at the back nursing a scarlet drink.

“Pardon me,” Belle said, moving closer, “but have you seen an older lady come through here in the past several minutes?”

The woman eyed Belle with speculation, taking another sip before setting her drink down.

“Can’t say,” she said, her starchy accent marking her as English. “Had to make this myself from what I could find behind the bar.” She snorted. “Not much by way of liquor _or_ service here, is there?”

Before Belle could formulate a response, Detective Gold entered the room, stopping abruptly when he spotted Belle.

“Miss French,” he ground out, his expression stony.

“Why, Detective Gold! What a pleasure to run into you again so soon!”

Belle blinked as the red-haired woman slithered from where she sat and crossed the floor in long strides, the hem of her emerald dress swishing attractively around her knees as she walked. She nudged Belle out of the way as she thrust her left hand out to Gold. A green manicure matched her dress and complemented her pale skin.

Gold shook her proffered hand awkwardly in his own left and Belle glanced down, seeing the edges of a plaster curl around the woman’s right hand. Belle watched the rest of the interaction with a dry fascination, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

“Mrs. Mills,” Gold said, his tone flat.

The woman trilled a high-pitched laugh.

“My dear Detective, I told you it’s _Miss_ , and that you can absolutely call me Zelena.” She smiled, her white teeth sharp and long, putting Belle in mind of a shark scenting a meal. “No need to stand on ceremony with me.”

“I find that formality does wonders separating beasts from those of higher intelligence,” Gold retorted. His face gave nothing away, but something in his voice gave Belle the impression he held Miss Mills in the former, rather than latter, group.

“Oh, that is so true!” Belle didn’t miss Zelena’s glance, nor the way her smile turned nasty around the corners as she looked at Belle.

Gold looked to Belle as well, but his expression turned questioning.

“Have you seen Mrs. Lucas, Miss French? I have something I need to discuss with her.”

Belle started to shake her head and explain she was looking for the very same person when Zelena interrupted.

“Older lady, a bit shorter than me and,” she giggled, “gone a bit _too_ grey?”

Gold raised an eyebrow.

“Of a sort. Have you seen her?”

“Yes, but only for a moment. She was in and out in a blink.” Zelena leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper and her mouth curling suggestively. “Are you on an investigation, Detective?”

Gold pulled away, his mouth twisting as he frowned at Zelena.

“I am not at liberty to discuss my work.”

Zelena pouted. “Oh, come on. I know the job. My father was an officer himself and I’ve met many a detective. Though,” she gave Gold a blatant once over, “none so dashing as yourself.”

Gold must have the patience of a saint, Belle thought as she watched the strange interplay. Either that or he was thick as a brick when it came to the fairer sex, which she highly doubted. Either way, there was still a murder to solve and standing around watching Zelena make googly-eyes at Gold wasn’t catching their killer any faster.

“If you’ll both excuse me,” Belle smiled at them, gesturing towards the door, “I must go take care of a few things. Lovely to meet you, Miss Mills.” She nodded at Gold. “Detective.”

“Miss French,” Gold called as she’d taken a few steps away from them. Belle paused, turning back to him. “I’ll walk with you. I need to retrieve something from my room.” He nodded to Zelena. “Miss.”

Her wave was friendly enough but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Belle caught the poisonous glare Zelena threw her way before she departed and wondered at it.

“Was I a convenient escape route,” Belle said once they were in the hall and out of earshot, “or do you really need to go to your room?”

He snorted lightly.

“Why not both?”

* * *

####  **4.**

Granny resurfaced soon after they exited the bar but to her eternal frustration, Gold shooed Belle away when he took Granny aside to discuss how to get the local authorities there without causing a fright among the other guests. Belle refused to be pushed aside, however, and made a flimsy pretext of perusing a stack of periodicals in the foyer lounge as she tried like mad to eavesdrop on their conversation. She only caught snippets but it was enough to glean their plan and Belle waited until Gold departed to go to Granny’s side.

“How are you, Mrs. Lucas?” Belle said, sitting down in the spot Gold had vacated. “Did you find the, ah, particular beverages you were looking for?”

Granny chuckled, but the sound was weary.

“Ruby told you? Ah, well. You’re not the law so there’s no harm in it, I suppose. I’d appreciate it all the same if you saw fit to forget that information when you’re around the Detective, however.”

Belle smiled wryly. “You can count on that,” she whispered, and Granny patted her hand.

“Thanks, darlin’.” She sighed, looking into the fireplace flames for a moment. “Ruby’s up in her own room resting. I made her lock the door behind me. Once she stopped crying, she went on about some nonsense plan to get to the bottom of this herself.” Granny shook her head. “That fool girl is going to be the death of me. I convinced her to leave the detectin’ to the professional on the premises. I think she took one of your books to bed with her, and I hope that’s as close as she gets to trying to fix something that can’t be fixed.”

She surreptitiously wrung her hands together, the gesture doing more to speak to her fears for Ruby’s safety than annoyance with her granddaughter’s imagination.

“I have a confession to make, Mrs. Lucas.”

Granny looked to her, an eyebrow raised.

“I’m as foolish as you think Ruby is. Detective Gold doesn’t want me butting my nose in, but I’m afraid I simply will not be listening to him.”

Granny’s eyes narrowed. 

“I can sure as hell get Ruby to listen if I try hard enough, but something tells me you’re the most stubborn mule in the county.” 

Belle shrugged, and Granny laughed.

“Well, come on, girl. I need a drink, and none of that fizzy ginger beer is gonna help me.” She pushed herself up and off the couch, and Belle followed her to the back of the Inn, into a private office that held a large mahogany desk and a couple of comfortably worn armchairs. Papers were stacked neatly on the corner of the desk, with a ledger sprawled open in the center.

Granny frowned.

“I thought I put that away after the breakfast rush.” She shook her head with a chuckle, closing the book and storing it in a desk drawer. “Don’t ever get old, honey. It knocks the life out of you.”

She opened another drawer and pulled out a small brown glass bottle and two stout tumblers, pouring a measure of gin for each of them. She raised her glass and clinked it against Belle’s in a toast.

“To Peter, and may the son of a bitch who did this to him get the noose.”

Belle drank to that, setting her glass down on the desk with a satisfied hum.

“That’s quite smooth.” Granny took the liberty of pouring her another measure and nudged the glass closer to Belle once more.

“And that’s not even the best stuff we stashed away.” She took a sip of her own drink, leaning back in her chair. “I can’t seem to find that bottle, though. I got the rest, but that was missing.” She shrugged. “Maybe Peter got a bit heavy with the pour on that one and we ran out.” She drained the last sip in her glass.

Belle sent her an incredulous smile.

“You seem like such a rule-follower, Mrs. Lucas, yet you trade in the sale of bootleg alcohol.” She held out a placating hand. “I mean no disrespect, only fascination.”

Granny cackled.

“Oh, honey. Even a saint’s been known to look the other way once in a while. Times get tough, and you gotta find the money where you can. It’s not easy keeping a place like this as grand as this town deserves.”

Belle nodded. “You’ll get no judgment from my quarter, I assure you. I just wonder…with the untimely demise of such a highly-trusted worker, will you take on the duties yourself?”

Granny eyed her shrewdly.

“No wonder you’re such a successful novelist.” She set down her glass. “You just see right through to the heart of things, don’t you?” She waved off Belle’s stuttered apology. “Relax, girl. I like your guts. And yes, I’ll take that part on myself now. Can’t let a little thing like murder get in the way of my bottom line, can I?”

* * *

####  **5.**

The gears in Belle’s mind were turning as she took her leave of Granny, but ground to a halt as she saw a new arrival standing in the foyer, dusting snow off themself and grumbling about the weather. Sharply dressed in a dark blue, tailored coat and fawn trousers, they removed their rather dashing hat to knock the snow off that had collected on the top and brim.

Belle blinked a few times. They were a woman, and a rather tall and handsome one, at that. Dark brown hair done in perfect Marcel waves in the front, the rest sleek and glossy in the light. Full lips, a strong nose and chin, and an apparently impeccable sense of fashion.

Ruby was still absent, so Belle took it upon herself to slip behind the check in desk and get the visitor sorted. How hard could it be? She called out a greeting and the woman looked up and in her direction before striding over.

“I’m not here for a room,” she said, her voice deep and rich, sending a little shiver down Belle’s spine. “I was called by a Detective Gold to assist with, ah, a few questions.”

Belle smiled. “Of course, though I’m not sure where he is at present. Are you certain you wouldn’t like a room for the night?” She glanced out the front doors. “It doesn’t look like that snow is stopping any time soon.”

The woman shook her head and waved Belle off.

“No, just the detective, if you could locate—”

Belle frowned slightly as the woman cut off, but the sound of hurried footsteps met her ears and she turned, seeing Ruby rushing to the front desk.

“Oh, Jesus and Mary. Granny’ll kill me if she sees you.” She shooed Belle out of the way and tugged the sign-in ledger towards her, grabbing a pencil and lifting her head to greet the newcomer.

“Hello! Welcome to the Moonlight Inn. I’m Ruby Lucas and…gosh, are you alright?”

The woman stood there, gaping at Ruby like a landed fish, a blush creeping over her cheeks. Suddenly, she blinked, as if coming out of a trance, and cleared her throat awkwardly.

“Yes, I’m…I’m fine.”

Ruby smiled and Belle could swear she saw a hint of blush in Ruby’s cheeks, too.

“Well, Ms. Fine, would you like a room?” She looked down, starting to write. “We have some left on the second floor, a couple of suites on the fourth…” She trailed off.

The woman shook her head. “No. I mean, yes. I-I mean,” she huffed, “I don’t need a room and my name isn’t Fine.”

“Oh.” Ruby stopped her scribbling and slowly turned the pencil over to erase the marks she’d made on the ledger page. “Sorry about that. Well, what _is_ your name and how can I help you?”

The woman stood up straight and produced a business card, handing it to Ruby. Belle knew she was quite _de trop_ but was too fascinated watching the interplay to leave. Ruby scanned the card, a little notch appearing between her brows.

“Doctor Dorothy Gale,” Ruby read aloud, then looked up with a gasp. “You’re the lady doctor at the teaching hospital just outside of the city!”

The woman nodded, a tiny smile appearing at the corner of her mouth.

“Yes, I’m currently—”

“The only woman practicing medicine in the state of Maine, I know!” Ruby interrupted. “I read all about you in the papers when you first got here, Doctor Gale. Everything sounded so marvelous!”

The doctor cleared her throat nervously as Ruby leaned over the desk, fascination shining in her eyes.

“I can’t believe my two heroes are under the same roof, and it’s _my_ family inn!” She sighed, a blissful expression on her face and Doctor Gale’s cheeks turned a deeper pink. Ruby’s eyes suddenly widened again.

“Oh! Doctor Gale, do you know Belle French? She’s a famous Australian writer who writes c-crime novels.”

Doctor Gale took a step closer, concern on her face.

“Miss Lucas, are _you_ alright?”

“What?” Ruby said, her voice overbright. “Oh, yes, I’m fine!” She took a few steps back. “Would you please excuse me?”

Before Belle or Doctor Gale could say a word, Ruby turned and ran off, sobbing into her hand. Silence reigned for a moment before Doctor Gale spoke, slowly and carefully.

“I take it the victim was a friend of hers?”

Belle sent her a questioning look and Doctor Gale shrugged a shoulder.

“Detective Gold told me to ‘watch out for a nosy novelist who thinks she’s on this case’ and ‘put her in her place if she gets out of hand’.” She smiled wryly. “I bet you’re that novelist.”

Belle smiled back.

“Detective Gold likes to think I listen to what he says when he’s ordering me around.”

“Old friends, are you?”

Belle shook her head. “No, we’ve only just met. But he made, shall we say, a distinct impression on me.”

Doctor Gale chuckled.

“Obviously. Well, shall we find the good Detective?”

* * *

####  **6.**

Gold did his fair share of grumbling when he found Belle with Doctor Gale in the kitchen examining the body. Belle merely shrugged and said he was nowhere to be found, so she thought it proper to give the medical expert immediate access to the scene. He glowered at her and she smiled benignly as he took a spot next to the doctor.

They had carefully rolled the body over to try and locate the wound that would have caused such a fatal bleed. Doctor Gale found a rather odd stab wound that reached through the ribs to the heart, puncturing it, leading to Peter bleeding to death. And quite quickly, according to the doctor.

“Well, at least it was fast,” Belle murmured.

Doctor Gale hummed in agreement.

“He likely suffered very little, considering.” She sighed and stood. “It’s a very strange wound. You either need to know exactly what you’re doing to cause a wound that precise or…”

“Or?” Gold pinned the doctor with a scrutinizing look and she met his eyes squarely.

“Or have extremely dumb luck.”

“And cowardice,” Belle rejoined. “To stab someone in the back, quite literally? What kind of person does that?”

Detective Gold sighed, and tugged the sheet back over the body before standing.

“Just as you said. A coward.” He flipped the little notebook he held in his hand closed, and tucked it into a pocket inside his coat. “I need to get the rest of the men here to question the guests. Once we’re satisfied, we’ll shut down the inn until the investigation concludes.” He started walking to the door but Belle stopped him.

“You can’t do that, Detective.”

“I can, and I will, Miss French.” He reached for the doorknob. “And it’s no business of yours, in any case.”

“Fine,” she said airily as he opened the door. “Have fun telling the rest of the force they need to trek through a blizzard to get here, and then have even more fun telling the rest of the guests they need to leave.”

Gold turned back, frowning.

“What am I supposed to do, keep all the guests here when one of them might be a murderer?” He threw up his hands. “What if he decides one body isn’t enough?”

“Well, if you send them out into the blizzard, they will _definitely_ die, whereas if we put our considerable brains together, I’m sure we can catch whoever the murderer is before anyone else _might_ die.”

“You are ridiculous,” he growled, but she knew she’d won when he shut the door, albeit reluctantly.

“Is that a yes?”

He sent her a ferocious look but she merely smiled.

“As options go, Detective,” Doctor Gale added, “Miss French has offered what I’d consider the lesser of two evils.”

Gold closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Fine.” He took a deep breath. “Have you got a plan in your _considerable brain_ , Miss French, or are you all bluster?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” She walked towards the door. “But we aren’t discussing it here.”

“Where do you suggest we discuss it, then? Mrs. Lucas’ office?” Gold trailed closely behind her, nearling bumping into her as she turned to give him a look.

“No, you silly man. _My_ room, of course.”

Belle sat on her bed, legs crossed as Detective Gold shifted his weight from foot to foot awkwardly. Doctor Gale occupied one of the armchairs near the window.

“ _That’s_ the brilliant plan of yours, Miss French?” Gold crossed his arms, his perpetual frown returning. “Identify and interview suspects and see if we can find a motive?”

“I never said it was brilliant, I said we should put our heads together and figure something out. This is just a start. And will you please sit down? All that shifting is making me nervous.”

Gold sighed, but did as she asked and took the second armchair opposite Doctor Gale.

Together, they quickly compiled a preliminary interview list. Gold heartily objected to them splitting up the list to make things go faster and it nearly led to a shouting match as they argued toe-to-toe, a fascinated Doctor Gale looking on.

“You are _not_ a police officer, Miss French.”

Belle crossed her arms and glared at him. “But I have worked with them for years and learned a thing or two! We need to be _fast_ if we want to avoid the killer striking again.”

“What makes you think any of them will want to talk to you?” Gold retorted. “No one knows there’s been a murder but us, remember?”

Belle uncrossed her arms, her hands balling into fists at her side.

“Because,” she said through clenched teeth, “I’m small and young and nonthreatening.”

“So’s a kitten, but I don’t fancy telling one my secrets.”

“That makes no sense!”

“Alright,” Doctor Gale stood, stepping over to the pair. “Why don’t we split up. Detective, you and I will go search the kitchen and body for more clues. Miss French, you see what information you can glean from the people on the list. Are we agreed?”

Belle was pleased but Gold was not, she could see it in his face. He relented, however, closing his eyes on a sigh.

“Fine.”

“Good. Let’s meet back here in two hours for an update.”

They staggered their departures, checking to be sure no one was watching them go, and went to their respective posts. Belle scanned her eyes down the list. A handful of guests were the only ones around during Peter’s murder. None of them seemed to have caught wind of the gruesome sight in the kitchen, however, and Granny was doing her level best to feed, water, and keep them entertained in the inn’s bar, despite the drawn look about her eyes that told Belle the day’s events were taking their toll on her.

Belle swanned in, a smile pinned to her face as she made the rounds, chatting with the guests lower on their list. None of them gave up anything that could be useful, so she smoothly extricated herself from the group and made her way to Granny, the older woman mixing drinks at the bar. Belle ordered a ginger beer, casting her gaze around the room casually as she waited.

A quiet hiss and a muffled curse from Granny made Belle turn around in alarm. Granny held her hand up to the light, a drop of blood welling and sliding down a finger. She reached back under the bar and pulled out a small, thin shard of familiar dark brown glass.

“Where the hell did that come from?” She grabbed a bar cloth and tore a corner off, wrapping it around her injured finger and moved to throw the shard in the trash. Something pinged in Belle’s mind and she called out to Granny, who stopped.

“Can I see that shard, please, Mrs. Lucas?”

Granny shrugged. “Be my guest.” She deposited the piece of glass into Belle’s palm, then rewrapped her finger. “Got more cloth here if you end up cutting yourself, too.”

“Actually, I’d love a small piece of that cloth, please.”

Granny tore another piece off and handed it to Belle, who wrapped the shard up securely.

“Do I remember correctly,” Belle said, “that Peter is the one who kept stock of your…beverage service?”

Granny moved closer. “That’s right.”

“And you mentioned you thought one bottle was missing, didn’t you?”

Granny snorted fondly. “On account of Peter’s heavy pour.”

“Could he have accidentally broken it instead?”

Granny frowned. “Well, sure, but he'd have told me first thing so I could get it replaced.” Her face blanked and she looked up at Belle in shock. “And he’d have cleaned the bar to within an inch of its life” she murmured. “He was always so careful about broken glass.”

“Mrs. Lucas—”

Granny cut her off with a nod.

“Go find the detective.”

* * *

####  **7.**

Belle hurried out of the bar to the kitchen in the hopes of finding Detective Gold, but he wasn’t there. She tried to leave to locate him, but Doctor Gale beckoned her inside.

“You need to see this,” she said, tugging the sheet off of Peter’s back where the wound was.

“At first, I thought it was a knife wound,” Doctor Gale said, “given its size and general shape, but then I realized there were irregularities that a knife wouldn’t have caused.”

Belle squatted down, careful to avoid the congealed mass of blood.

“A knife wound is quite uniform, is it not?” She said. “Clean, for lack of a better word?”

Doctor Gale nodded, a small smile at the corners of her mouth.

“Very good, Miss French. Yes, a knife wound is relatively clean if the knife is sharp enough. And Mrs. Lucas’ knives are indeed sharp and none seem to be missing.”

Belle’s heart began to pound, her suspicion from the bar coming back to her.

“This isn’t a knife wound, is it?”

Doctor Gale shook her head. “No. I’m sorry to say I can’t quite glean what this poor man was stabbed with yet, but it wasn’t a knife.”

“What about a shard of glass?”

“What?”

Belle opened her palm, picking up the wrapped shard and removing the cloth from around it.

“Something like this, only larger?”

Doctor Gale carefully picked up the half-inch shard, examining it under the light with squinted eyes. Suddenly her face cleared.

“My god.”

Belle handed her the cloth. 

“I have to go find Detective Gold. Where did he go?”

“He said something about checking upstairs, in a specific room but…I’m sorry, Miss French. I was too engrossed in examining the wound and I didn’t catch the rest.”

Belle nodded and stood.

“That’s alright. I have an idea. Please, Doctor Gale, stay here and don’t let anyone else into this room.”

Belle ducked out of the kitchen, making her way in as unhurried a fashion as she dared across the foyer to the check-in desk, trying not to attract the notice of anyone else. She opened the ledger and scanned the most recent pages until she found the room number she was looking for and then left the desk. Once she reached the stairs, she hurried up to the second floor, planning an excuse in her head should she encounter the room’s occupants, but when she reached the room, she found the door ever so slightly ajar.

Wariness stole over her and she applied light pressure to the door. It swung open silently on its hinges and she peeked inside to see Detective Gold moving around the room, searching for something. She slipped inside, closing the door behind her until it latched. Detective Gold spun around, pistol in hand, and Belle squeaked, throwing her hands up in surrender.

“Don’t shoot!” she whispered loudly. “It’s just me!”

“Miss French!” Detective Gold let out a whoosh of breath, stowing his gun back in its shoulder holster under his jacket. He strode to her after the gun was safely stowed, and grabbed her by the shoulders, giving her a little shake, his momentum walking her backwards. “What the hell were you thinking? You never sneak up on an officer like that. I could have shot you!”

“But you realized it was me,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’m not in any danger from you.”

He growled, low in his chest. 

“Like hell you aren’t.”

Gold pushed her the last few feet until she was against the wall, then lowered his head, pressing a brutal kiss to her mouth.

Shock held her still for a few seconds before she melted against him, realizing _this_ was what she had wanted since the moment they met and he was too handsome by half, so prickly and rude to her in the foyer. He slid his arms around her waist, clutching her against him and she moaned, opening her mouth for him to explore as she wound her arms around his neck. He groaned in return, gentling his kiss into a luxurious slanting of his lips against hers, his tongue thrusting and playing with her as she clutched at him desperately.

The shrill sound of an irritated female voice echoed down the hallway, abruptly ending their kiss.

“ _Shit_.”

“I’ll say.”

Gold grabbed Belle’s hand and yanked her over to a door, opening it and shoving her inside what appeared to be a closet. He ducked inside after her, shutting the door just as the handle of the room’s doorknob turned and the door opened.

The clack of heels echoed on the wood floor, muffling briefly as the occupant crossed the area rug by the bed. Belle held her breath next to Gold as the woman moved around her room. To Belle’s horror, a silhouette approached the closet and started opening the door. Gold yanked her against him, turning them into the deepest, darkest corner of the closet they could reach. 

The woman tossed something carelessly into the closet without looking inside, then slammed the door, making Belle wince. She breathed a quiet, shaky sigh of relief as footsteps moved away from where they hid. Belle heard the woman hiss, as if in pain, and then the sound of a bag being rummaged through.

“ _Bloody glass_ ,” the woman growled. “Where the hell is that plaster?”

Belle’s eyes widened. She’d been right, after all.

Zelena Mills had killed Peter.

Having her suspicions confirmed in real life wasn’t as fun as in her novels, Belle realized. A belated tingle of shame crept through her but she resolutely stored it away for another time. She could worry over her books later. For now, there was a murderer right outside the small closet they hid inside, and something hard and hot was poking her in the bottom.

It was then she realized that Gold still held her tight, her back to his front and his arms wrapped around her, keeping her close.

And the hardness against her back was…was… 

She pressed her bottom back against him and his arms tightened as he muffled a gasp into her hair.

“What are you doing?” he rasped. “You’ll get us caught.”

His hands were at odds with his words, however, as one slid up to cup her breasts through the fabric of her dress, and the other slid down to her legs. She parted for him eagerly, breathing heavily as he brushed his fingers up the inside of her thigh, stopping where the ribbons of her garters hooked into her silk stocking. He played with the lace top, sliding his thumb underneath to brush against her skin and she arched into him shamelessly.

He slid his hand higher until he reached the edge of her underwear, the feel of his silk-covered fingers against her flesh unbearibly erotic. He inhaled as his hand cupped her mound and a small, shuddering sigh was pulled from her throat.

“Is this what you want?” he purred, his breath hot against her ear. She nodded frantically, breathing a fervent _yes_ and his hand slipped inside to touch her bare skin. She barely contained the moan that wanted to erupt as his clever, wicked fingers slid over her folds, parting and playing with her gently, spreading the wetness that he found.

He slid one long, thick finger inside her and she clenched around him, trying like hell not to gasp her pleasure and give them away. He curled his finger and her knees buckled from the pleasure. His grip on her was firm, the arm near her breasts sliding down to hold her middle securely, so she didn’t fear falling. He kept curling and curling his finger inside her, his thumb sliding next to her clitoris and rubbing in counterpoint to the thrusts of his finger. 

She pressed her head back against his shoulder, her mouth falling open as she gasped. Somewhere almost beyond her recognition, a door opened and then slammed closed, nearly jarring her off her stride. But Gold was right there with her, redoubling his efforts to bring her back to that gorgeous, luxurious build of pleasure.

“She’s gone,” he rasped in her ear. “Let me hear you.”

The words sank in slowly but when they did, she moaned aloud, squeezing her legs together and trapping his hand.

“Are you close, Belle?” He pressed his cock firmly against her bottom. “Will you come for me, beautiful?”

She managed a jerking nod, whimpering as the wave of bliss began to crest. Her legs stiffened and she cried out, writhing against him as pleasurable spasms wracked her body, his skillful fingers coaxing her through.

When the last ripple of bliss faded, he slid his hand from between her legs, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking her essence off them with an obscene slurp. The sound sent another jolt of lust to her core and she moaned, pressing her behind against him rhythmically.

He groaned into her hair.

“You’d best stop that, love, before you get yourself in trouble.”

“I’m already in trouble, Detective,” she purred, turning in his arms and rising to her toes to plant a lush kiss to his mouth in the semidarkness.

It was all the encouragement he needed. He slid his hands under her ass and lifted her, bringing her legs around his waist and pressing her back against the wall, anchoring her with his body. He reached between them, feeling for her sodden drawers and tearing the silk like it was wet paper, tossing them away before undoing the front of his trousers.

Belle felt the blunt, thick head of him press against her entrance and sighed in delight as she wriggled as best she could in permission. He got the message, sliding up and inside her, his girth stretching her to bursting. She cried out as he sheathed himself to the hilt and began a slow, rhythmic thrusting that rocked her against him. He moaned as he thrust, offering half-kisses to her open mouth before pressing his face against her neck and nipping at her skin with a growl. She mewled, squeezing her inner muscles around him and he gasped.

“Oh, god, Belle,” he rasped. “Say my name, please, god, _say_ my _name_.”

“I-I—” 

“Mac,” he growled. “It’s Mac.”

“Mac,” she echoed, and the sound of it seemed to drive him insane, his thrusting growing frenzied, spiking pleasure anew through her tender flesh. He slid a hand between them, slipping his thumb over her clit once more and she yelped. He rubbed her in time with his thrusts until she was coming again, squeezing around him, chanting his name like a prayer to a beneficent god. He clutched her to him desperately, spurting inside her with hot bursts, moaning through his completion.

They clung to each other for a moment as they caught their breath before he released her, lowering her gently to the ground and then fishing around for her torn drawers. 

“I’ll replace them,” he said, pressing the torn fabric into her hand.

She shook her head. “It’s fine.” On impulse, she tucked them into the pocket of his coat, leaning into him as she did so. “I have plenty more where those came from.”

The combination of the dimness and thrum of desire still running through her veins made her feel reckless and she raised herself up to brush her lips against his.

“When we solve this thing,” she whispered, “I want a chance to see you in the light.”

He groaned, clutching her to him and squeezing her almost painfully.

“Don’t say things like that,” he growled. “We still have work to do.”

“Then the quicker we are, the sooner I can have you all to myself again.” She opened the closet door and slipped out, and he followed.

“Moving too quickly leads to sloppiness,” he chided her and she rolled her eyes.

“You know what I meant, Detective,” she said, not missing the heat in his gaze when she used his title. So, he liked that, did he? She tucked that tidbit away for later, turning from him with a smile and scanning the room.

* * *

####  **8.**

Belle and Gold came up with nothing of note but a discarded plaster in the trash bin and a garish collection of dresses in various shades of green hanging in the closet. Gold insisted inspecting the dresses wasn’t necessary for the investigation and nearly had to bodily remove Belle from perusing the tags of each one. She countered that just because Zelena may have murdered Peter didn’t mean her sense of fashion went out the window, because several of those dresses were _lovely_.

Gold merely grunted, and pointedly escorted her out of the room.

Doctor Gale was still stationed in the kitchen, intently focused on her examination, and startled when Belle and Gold entered.

“Has it been two hours already?”

Gold pulled out his pocket watch. “Close enough,” he muttered before stashing the watch hastily. “Have you found anything new?”

Doctor Gale shook her head. “You?”

Belle glanced at Gold. “Yes, actually,” she said, turning to the doctor. “We have a theory as to the killer.”

Doctor Gale stood, her sharp gaze pinned to Belle. 

“Who?

“One of the guests. Miss Zelena Mills.”

Belle enumerated the details of their search, skipping the closet interlude, as Doctor Gale’s expression grew more confused.

“But why kill the bartender?”

“Perhaps she’s a temperance supporter,” Gold mused. “It wouldn’t be the first time one of them has been violent against the use of alcohol.”

Belle paled. “How—”

Gold sent her a flat look. “I’m a detective, Miss French. I notice things.”

“Right.” Belle took a deep breath. “Well, I don’t think she’s a teetotaler.”

“Why not?”

“Her wardrobe.” Gold raised an eyebrow and Belle raised one back. “You can’t tell me a woman who dresses like that doesn’t know how to have a good time.”

“That’s rather severe on your sex, isn’t it?” He smirked.

Belle rolled her eyes. “I didn’t say she was stupid, I said she knows how to have a good time. Honestly, the way men think.”

He pursed his lips, amusement clearly written on his face.

“And how _do_ men think, my dear?”

Belle crossed her arms, glaring at him.

“A pretty dress means she’s dumb, and wanting to have a good time means she’s fast.”

“Well,” he drawled, “that’s logic I simply cannot argue with, isn’t it?” He crossed his own arms, taking a step into her space. “And which are you, sweetheart?”

Belle growled, ready to launch herself at him when Doctor Gale interrupted.

“Oh, would you two quit it?” She frowned at them both, hands on her hips. “Or get yourselves a room? Either way, stop flirting in front of my crime scene. We have a murderer to apprehend.”

Belle shot a panicked look at the doctor. 

“I’m not—he’s just—”

“Apologies, Doctor Gale,” Gold cut in smoothly, moving away from Belle and towards the body.

The doctor nodded, her eyes lingering on Belle for a moment before she winked and gave Belle a cheeky smile. Belle’s cheeks heated furiously and she ducked her head, irritated at the pair of them.

“I think Peter here has given up as many clues as he’s going to,” Doctor Gale continued. “For now, we should get him into some sort of cold storage before we go hunt down Miss Mills.” She looked to Gold. 

“How do you propose we go about getting our girl, as it were, Detective?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “The usual way. We find her and arrest her on suspicion of murder, simple as that.”

“And make a scene doing so,” Belle muttered, still annoyed.

He swiveled his head in her direction, clearly peeved.

“And what would you suggest instead, Miss French?”

Belle raised her head defiantly, looking him square in the eye.

“Set a honey trap.”

Gold blinked and Belle smirked. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of one, Detective.”

He scowled. “Of course I have. What I don’t know is how on earth that’s going to work for this scenario.”

Belle waived a careless hand.

“Simple. Or, it is for me, at least.” She took a few steps closer to them. “Most murders happen in fits of passion, am I correct?”

Gold fidgeted. “Statistically speaking, yes.”

“So,” Belle continued, “taking into account Miss Mills’ earlier behavior towards _you_ , Detective, I bet a fit of passion had something to do with Peter’s death.”

She sent Gold a meaningful look, waiting until realization dawned on his face.

“You mean…”

“Yes.”

“So I’d be…” 

“Mmhmm.”

Gold shook his head. “No. No! I am not going to be _bait_ for a _murderer_.”

“Actually,” Doctor Gale supplied, “I think it’s a rather clever idea.”

Belle beamed and Gold whirled on the Doctor.

“Whose side are you on, anyway?”

Doctor Gale scoffed. “Any side that catches a murderer and puts them behind bars, thank you very much.” She crossed her arms. “Don’t be such a baby.”

“A _baby?_ ” Gold sputtered, indignant. “Doctor Gale, I am a _reasonable_ _man_. One who doesn’t relish meeting his demise at the hands of a lunatic clutching the end of a broken bottle!”

Belle exchanged a glance with Doctor Gale as Gold shot a desperate look between the two of them before his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Goddamn it.”

* * *

####  **9.**

Belle sat in the far corner of the bar, nursing drinks with Doctor Gale, while Granny manned the bar and Ruby stood at the front desk. After Gold had reluctantly agreed to be the honey in the trap, they’d alerted Granny and Ruby to their findings, and enlisted their help in trapping Zelena. It took Ruby several minutes to be ready, going from tears to rage and finally adopting a cool calm that was as scary as it was enviable after her grandmother took her aside for a moment. Doctor Gale kept shooting small, admiring glances at Ruby, and Belle hid her smirk. There would be plenty of time for matchmaking once they had caught their culprit.

Right on time, Zelena appeared in the bar, garbed in a slinky, shimmery Kelly-green dress and matching heels, her hair done perfectly. She slid into a stool, ordering a gin fizz from Granny with a wink and sat back, casting surreptitious looks over her shoulder and towards the door.

Gold appeared a few moments later, dressed impeccably in a three-piece suit, black shoes gleaming in the low light of the bar. Belle stopped speaking mid-sentence, nearly swallowing her tongue as she watched Gold stride up to the bar and take a stool next to Zelena.

Doctor Gale nudged her.

“Belle, come on,” she murmured, keeping a smile pasted on her face. “Do you want to give us away?”

Belle blinked, turning back to the doctor. 

“Sorry,” she whispered. “He’s just…” She sighed.

“That he is.” Doctor Gale’s smile turned genuine. “I want to hear the story behind that sigh when we have the time.”

Belle huffed, smiling.

“Only if you promise you’ll let me fix you and Ruby up when this is all over.”

Doctor Gale’s face turned red and she took a large gulp of her ginger beer, setting the glass down with a _thunk_. She was silent for a few moments, then said, “Deal.”

Belle snickered behind her hand before her gaze was drawn to movement at the bar. She nudged the Doctor.

“Here we go.”

Gold slipped off his stool, smiling at Zelena who grinned lasciviously and took his offered hand. He turned and collected her still-full drink, passing it to her. She accepted it with a nod of thanks, sipping as they left the bar arm in arm. Belle had to tamp down a growl as she slowly stood, making eye contact with Granny. The older woman nodded and Belle slowly followed after Gold.

It wasn’t easy keeping her tread light behind them and she was nearly caught once when Zelena turned to laugh overloud at something Gold said to her. He grabbed Zelena by the waist, yanking her bodily against him which pulled her focus right back to where it should be, saving Belle. Gold shot Belle a look over Zelena’s shoulder and she intercepted it with a nod.

She turned a corner, going to the back stairs Granny had told them about and made her way to the second floor, hoping Gold was able to stall Zelena long enough for Belle to make it to her room. She tried not to think too hard about _how_ Gold would need to stall her.

Belle made it to Zelena’s room, unlocking it with Granny’s skeleton key, and slipped inside, shutting the door behind her before making a beeline for the closet. She ignored the blush of remembrance as she ducked inside and pressed herself into the same corner she and Gold had occupied in a passionate frenzy just a few hours before. A few moments later, Zelena and Gold entered the room, Zelena’s high-pitched giggle grating on Belle’s nerves.

“Alone at last,” she heard Zelena say, her tone low and sultry. “Whatever shall we do with ourselves?”

“I can think of a few things,” Gold rejoined, and Zelena giggled once more before taking an audible slurp of her drink. “Careful, now,” he said, “before it all goes to your head.”

She hummed but it turned into a whine.

“Just a moment, dearie, while I put this somewhere safe” Gold’s voice drew nearer to the closet and Belle held her breath. “Wouldn’t want to break it and end up hurting ourselves.” The glass clinked as it was set down and Zelena tsked.

“So considerate,” she simpered and he chuckled. “Finally I meet a man of _true_ taste and refinement in this backwater little town.”

“Am I?” The sound of hands sliding down fabric met Belle’s ears. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

“Oh, but it’s true.” Zelena’s voice dropped to what she likely assumed was a sensual register. “You’re clearly a man who knows a good thing when he sees one. Like me, for example.” She laughed at her own joke. “Unlike some others I’ve seen here.”

“Well, I certainly do have a preference when it comes to women,” Gold mused aloud. “Beautiful, adorably tenacious, exasperatingly clever, with the most striking blue eyes and an accent you wouldn’t soon forget.”

Zelena gasped and Belle almost did, too. Those words weren’t part of the plan; what the hell was he doing?

“My goodness, Detective,” Zelena purred. “You sure know how to flatter a woman.”

“Oh, but it isn’t flattery. It’s the truth.” 

Zelena giggled again, greedy delight in the sound and Gold chuckled in response.

“And I have to say, being here with you has made me realize something very important,” he said, suddenly serious.

“What’s that?”

“That woman?” He asked. “That clever, lovely woman? She’s not you.” 

A deadly pause settled on the room, then a scoff of disgust. High heeled footsteps drew closer to the closet.

“I see,” Zelena murmured. The base of her glass slid across the surface on which it stood and Belle heard the _snap!_ of the stem breaking in half. Her heart began to pound madly as she saw Zelena’s shadow turn. 

“Well, that is a shame, isn’t it?” Zelena said, her voice shaking with suppressed rage. “Such refinement, wasted on someone else?” Her voice lowered to a growl. “I won’t have that.”

Time seemed to slow down for Belle as she saw Zelena’s shadow raise its arm, saw her own arms shoot forward and shove open the closet door as hard as she could, heard the dull thud of wood as it smashed against a body. She tumbled out of the closet, falling hard to the floor at the same time as Zelena.

“Belle!”

Belle blinked away the daze from her fall and felt strong hands lift and yank her against a warm, solid chest. Gold wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her hard enough to make her squeak. He released her when she did, running his hands over her form, checking for injuries.

“Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?”

She stilled his hands when Zelena moaned from her spot on the floor, then shoved him at her. He pulled his pistol from the holster inside his coat and pointed it at the woman on the floor.

“Zelena Mills, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of a police officer and the suspected murder of Peter Smith. Put your hands on your head and don’t make any sudden moves.”

Zelena rolled over with another groan, blinking, her face a mass of confusion before she registered what happened and shot a dagger-filled glare at Belle.

“You little _bitch!_ ”

She scrambled to her feet, ignoring Gold and making a lunge for Belle, but Gold stepped between the two women, cocking the pistol. The sound stopped Zelena in her tracks and she stared down the gun barrel dumbly.

“What the hell—”

“I’d shut my mouth if I were you, Miss Mills,” Gold interrupted. “You’re in enough trouble as it is.”

Zelena sputtered denials for a moment, rage turning her face nearly purple, before she gave in and slowly raised her hands, placing them on top of her head. Gold moved around to her back, producing a pair of handcuffs and pulling her hands down to restrain her. He decocked the pistol and sheathed it in its holster, then took Zelena’s elbow, leading her out of the hotel room.

* * *

####  **10.**

Belle followed as Gold led Zelena downstairs to the kitchen. The body had been moved to a back corner of the hotel’s cold storage, for the sake of decency and preservation, but the large bloodstain remained on the floor. Gold sat Zelena at the small table in the opposite corner of the stain, positioning her so that she had an unencumbered view of what she’d done. She tensed visibly as she sat, trying to angle her face away.

Doctor Gale entered a moment later, her handsome face set in a grim expression, and she stood next to Belle near the door, giving Gold a wide berth. He pulled out his small notebook and flipped it to a clean page.

“Alright, Miss Mills,” he began, “why don’t you walk me through what happened.”

Zelena’s mouth twisted.

“I don’t have you tell you a damn thing,” she spat. Gold sighed, tapping his pencil on the notebook.

“Fine, then. Perhaps a stint in cold storage with the body of the young man you murdered will help change your mind.” He reached for her and she jerked back, her eyes wide.

“No!” She shook her head furiously. “N-no, I don’t want to see that.”

“Why not?” Gold asked innocently. “It was easy enough to kill him, so what’s hard about being near his dead body?”

Zelena shut her eyes, shuddering.

“Look, it was an accident.”

Gold scoffed. “Stabbing him in the back was an accident?” He rubbed his chin in mock thought. “That’s a new one. That means at least three people I’ve put behind bars were victims of circumstance, instead of the murderers we all thought they were.” He grinned at her. “How about that.”

“It was! It was his _own_ fault!” Zelena strained against the cuffs, her jaw clenching around her words. “ _He’s_ the one to blame for his death!”

“How do you figure?” Belle blurted, unable to keep her promise to be quiet. “Did he attack you? Steal something from you? What the hell did he do to earn being stabbed?”

“He didn’t want me!”

Zelena’s outburst had them staring at her, their faces blank from shock. She flicked her eyes to each of them, jutting her chin in the air.

“I asked him to join me for a drink. He said no, along with a few other unflattering things about...my age.” 

Zelena’s eyes landed on Belle, and her cool, haughty expression turned nasty around the eyes.

“ _You_ must understand what that’s like, mustn’t you, dear? Rejection for being too old?” She smirked. “Us spinsters really have to stick together, don’t we?”

Belle stared at her for a moment longer before bursting into laughter, wrapping her arms around her middle as her sides cramped from mirth. Gold turned, regarding her over his shoulder with a droll look before turning back to Zelena.

“Whatever the reason, Miss Mills, you’ve admitted to the murder of Peter Smith. As soon as the snow clears enough, I will take you to the local station for processing and to get a written statement on record.” He stood, turning to Belle and Doctor Gale. “For the time being, we need someone to watch her and I have just the person in mind.”

Granny was all too happy to keep an eye on Zelena, stored as she was in an old servant’s bedroom with no windows and no way out save for a small door that locked from the outside. She grabbed a chair and a sawed-off shotgun she kept for emergencies, plus her knitting, and stationed herself comfortably outside Zelena’s room. Gold offered to switch shifts with her but Granny shook her head, saying she’d enjoy the chance to play jailer, maybe spook Zelena a bit by cocking the gun now and then.

He wryly confided to Belle that he still planned to shoo her away to get some rest at some point in the near future, even if he did staring down the barrels of her gun.

The blizzard stopped by Christmas Eve morning, the hotel guests waking to see the sun sparkling on a fresh blanket of powder that made Storybrooke look like a real winter wonderland. And none of them were the wiser for the events that had taken place the previous day. Gold was able to make his way well enough to the town’s police station and returned with two officers who promptly took Zelena and the body with them. Gold promised to follow later in the day with his notes from Zelena’s initial confession. 

He was yawning hard on his return, and Belle suspected he made good on his promise to relieve Granny the previous night. She shooed him upstairs like a mother hen and he capitulated, grumbling all the while. She watched him go with a fond smile.

“So, when do I get that story?”

Belle turned, a smile blooming.

“I think you can figure out exactly what that story entails, Doctor.”

She chuckled. “Call me Dot, please. And I’m sure you’re right.” She sighed, plunging her hands into the pockets the stylist blue wool trousers she wore, rocking a bit on her heels. “How’s Miss Lucas?”

“Ruby?” Belle shrugged. “I think she’s going to be fine. It’s a shock and she’ll need time to process her grief, of course, but I think she’ll be alright.”

“Good,” Doctor Gale murmured. “That’s good. She’s…she’s very sweet. She doesn’t need excessive pain.”

Belle glanced over her shoulder, grinning at something before turning back to the Doctor.

“I agree, Dot. In fact, I was just thinking about how she needs someone smart and kind and very handsome in her life to help her heal.”

Doctor Gale managed a jerking nod, squinting as she looked out the front doors to the snow-covered walkway in front of the hotel. 

“That she does. She’s a bright, beautiful young woman. Any man would be lucky to have her.”

“Who says I want a man?”

Doctor Gale froze, her eyes going wide as a blush stole into her cheeks. She turned, meeting eyes a tad too wide to be innocent, especially situated as they were above full lips curved into a cheeky smile.

“M-Miss Lucas!” Doctor Gale gulped, her gaze running hungrily over Ruby in her festively red and cream dyed wool dress. “I was…that is, Miss French and I were just—”

“Deciding my life for me?” Ruby took a few steps closer, twining her fingers together and biting her lip. “That’s kind of presumptuous, wouldn’t you say?”

Her words held no real heat but Doctor Gale blanched anyway.

“I would never dare presume to—”

Ruby moved in, pressing her lips to the doctor’s. The poor woman froze, her eyes wide and nearly crossed as they stayed glued to Ruby’s face. Ruby ended the kiss and smiled, pointing upwards.

“Mistletoe.” Doctor Gale raised her eyes, as did Belle, and sure enough, there was a tiny bundle of greenery attached to the chandelier above their heads. Ruby giggled.

“Your face sure does get red easily, Doctor Gale.”

The doctor swept her eyes around the foyer briefly before hauling Ruby against her.

“Call me Dot,” she rasped, plating a lush kiss to a very surprised Ruby’s mouth. Ruby sighed, twining her arms around Doctor Gale’s neck and pressing herself tight to the doctor’s front.

A gently-cleared throat had them springing apart a few seconds later and all three women turned to see Detective Gold with his eyes carefully contemplating the tips of his shiny black shoes.

“I need to speak with Miss French for a minute, please.”

“Oh,” Ruby disengaged herself from the doctor, smoothing the front of her dress and lifting a hand to check her hair. “Right.” She looked at Doctor Gale. “Why don’t we go, um, see if we can find Granny?”

Her eyes said something entirely different but the Doctor nodded fervently.

“Yes, please.”

The two women hurried out, leaving behind a grinning Belle and a bemused Gold. She turned to face him.

“Funny,” she said with a quick glance around the foyer. “So much can happen in the span of a day.”

He nodded, ducking his head and sticking his hands into his pockets.

“Miss French—”

She put a hand on his chest, stopping his words.

“Belle. Call me Belle. We’re way beyond formality now, Mac.” She took a step closer. “And I’m glad.”

She lifted onto her toes, pressing a gentle kiss to his mouth before lowering back down. 

He stared at her, his eyes dreamy and she committed the sight to memory.

“What was that for?”

She shrugged, pointing at the chandelier.

“Mistletoe.”

He chuckled. “Is that the only reason?”

She narrowed her eyes at him playfully before winding her arms about his neck and kissing him hard, right there in the foyer. His arms slipped around her waist, keeping her flush against him, and she let out a small moan of contentment. When the kiss ended, she gave into a desire to snuggle into him, breathing in the scent of his aftershave, the spice and musk filling her senses and imprinting him on her memory.

“I wonder,” she mused aloud, “if all the rooms are the same or if Mrs. Lucas has them decorated differently on different floors.”

“Do you now.”

“Yes, I do.”

She felt his chest move on a chuckle and giggled.

“When do you check out?” he murmured into her hair.

“The twenty-sixth.” She shrugged. “But I needn’t. I have a month before I’m due to start writing my next novel.”

He hummed thoughtfully.

“Perhaps you could extend your stay in our fair city a bit,” he suggested, his arms tightening about her. “You haven’t lived until you’ve experienced a real Storybrooke Christmas. Don’t you dare tell anyone I said this, but…it’s nearly magical.”

“Lords a-leaping and ladies dancing and all that?”

“Oh, yes.”

She laughed through her nose.

“Well, there is something I’d like to do first.”

“May I join you?”

She grinned. “I sure hope so, I’ll need your room to do it, after all.”

He pulled back, looking down at her with a raised eyebrow. She quirked one back at him in return.

“We make a pretty good team, Detective,” she said, her voice low and sultry. “And we solved a murder in what has to got to be record time. Why don’t we go…celebrate a little?”

A slow, pleased smile spread across his handsome face.

“Happy Christmas to me.”

* * *

_Epilogue_

It always was the favorite story to be told at each subsequent Christmas, no matter that the same core group of folks ended up together year after year, their numbers growing here and there. They never grew sick of recalling it. 

A Christmas toast to Peter came first, everyone growing a bit misty for a moment before food was passed and the fire was stoked and Belle recounted the moment she first saw the man who would become her husband, and how incredibly rude he was to her, all for making him wait in line. MacCullough would laugh and roll his eyes, making a comment about how that rudeness had landed him the most wonderful Christmas gift he’d ever gotten, save for the Christmas she told him they were going to have their first child. And then the one where she confessed to carrying their second. Top three Christmases of his life thus far, he’d say, so he was hard-pressed to regret being a little rude all those years ago.

That was usually the cue for a child to start crying and all the adults would erupt in a chorus of sympathy for the poor mite, saddened at the lack of attention being paid to her or at his ball rolling away from where his little arms could reach. Granny would scoop up the beleaguered babe and take them on a round of the room, over to the large fir tree decked with tinsel and ornaments, and let the child play under her watch.

The French-Gold’s split their time between Melbourne and Storybrooke once MacCullough retired from detective work and built a private consulting firm. Belle’s novels were adored across several countries and each new work required all the traveling her adventurous heart could want.

But for the rest of their lives she would tell anyone who listened how her greatest adventure of all started with holding up a check-in line during Christmas of 1925.


End file.
